The late-night wind howled past the cracked window, rattling the thin glass like the whisper of an old enemy.
Yan Xiyan sat on her bed, knees drawn to her chest, textbooks stacked beside her like silent sentinels. But she wasn't reading. Her fingers hovered above her lap, twitching every now and then, phantom movements from an afternoon of disassembling rifles.
Her mind replayed Grandpa Yan's voice:
"To bond with your weapon, you must understand it… Just like people."
People, huh?
She let out a soft laugh. Understanding people was far more complicated than understanding guns.
A sudden ping interrupted her thoughts.
Unknown Number.
"Nice reflexes in sparring class today. You hiding something, Miss Amnesia?"
She blinked. The sender didn't sign off, but she didn't need to guess.Qiao Zeyan.
That smug bastard.
She stared at the message for a full thirty seconds before replying:
"You must be mistaking me for someone who cares."
A few seconds later.
Zeyan:
"You wound me. I was just admiring how a fragile little amnesiac dodged a punch like she trained with the military."
She tossed the phone on the bed and groaned into her pillow."Idiot."
From the window, movement.
She shot up. Pupils contracted. Her breathing slowed.
There it was again, a figure. Barely a shadow against the moonlight, slipping between rooftops.
Her instincts screamed danger. But her curiosity whispered louder.
Without a sound, she slid open the drawer under her bed, revealing a sleek tactical knife wrapped in cloth.
Yan crouched low on the rooftop, hoodie pulled over her hair, eyes scanning the neighborhood.
The shadow had vanished.
Or so it seemed.
Behind her a crunch sounded.
She spun.
Only to come face-to-face with…
A cat. Fat, orange, and wearing a collar with a bell that jingled mockingly.
"Seriously?" she muttered. "I almost stabbed Garfield."
Just as she turned to leave, another presence emerged from the shadows. This time, not a cat.
A tall figure, dressed in matte black. Face obscured. Watching her.
For a second, they both stood still, locked in a quiet standoff.
Then he turned and ran.
She gave chase.
Meanwhile…
In his room, Qiao Zeyan stared at the security feed on his laptop.
There she was again.
Climbing rooftops like she belonged to them.
He zoomed in. Paused the footage.
"What exactly are you?" he whispered, tapping his pen against the screen.